


The Dangers of Off-label Prescriptions

by oceaxe



Series: Compulsion [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dubious Consent, M/M, Rimming, Sex Compulsion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-25 16:53:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7540504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceaxe/pseuds/oceaxe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Off-label: when a potion is prescribed to treat a symptom unrelated to the purpose of the potion. Such as a lust potion administered for its soporific side effects. Auror Potter has trouble sleeping. Apothecary’s Assistant Draco Malfoy has just the thing to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dangers of Off-label Prescriptions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ladyofsilverdawn (ladyofSD)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyofSD/gifts).



> Many thanks to my beta (Sapphirequill) for catching all manner of unnecessary commas, as well as much other useful input!

I saunter over to the bar, one eye on the door to the Muggle club. He’s going to stumble in any time now. I order my drink and lean against the counter, anticipation thrumming in my veins and to be honest, in my cock as well. I’ve only taken a sip of my whiskey when I catch sight of him— all rumpled Muggle clothes and mussed hair, looking like he’s just been shagged. 

_Foreshadowing_. I smile to myself. He searches me out and sidles up next to me, getting the barkeep’s attention to request a lager. He takes a swig and says, “So, what’s going on?” He won’t be so cavalier once I’ve played my trick on him. My heart speeds up even though I know the score. This is going to be too good.

I fix him with a stare as my left hand delves into my robe’s pocket. Too anxious to get on with it to bother with a better gambit, I point to a crowded corner of the club and say, “Isn’t that Finnegan over there, doing body shots off Patil?” Harry’s head swivels in the direction of the phantom libertines and I tip the potion into his plebian swill. 

He turns back to me, momentarily confused. “Didn’t see them.” 

“Oh well,” I say, smiling. “Bottoms up.” _Foreshadowing again. Hah._

The music is hellishly loud. He probably didn’t hear me, but he can see my hand bringing my glass to his for a clink. We both upend our drinks and he sets his down, wiping his mouth and looking at me curiously. It will just take a second. And then.

“God, it’s so hot in here,” he says. “Are you...?” His mouth goes slack with desire. His hands are on me, sliding up and down my torso. I turn towards the bar, leaning on it while his palms slither down my backside. The potion has rendered him unable to utter further words, and sadly the bar has rendered all sound inaudible anyway. I would love to hear him panting. He’s grabbing at my waistband, pushing ineffectively at it. I take pity on him and undo the button and zip, helping him get to the prize.

My cock. Ah, god, his hands are all over it, fuck, I’m so hard, people can see us— though no one is looking and I’m sure other folks have fucked against this bar. The place is so seedy. I can feel his erection rampant against my arse cheeks. I grind back against it and I don’t need to hear, I can _feel_ his groan through my whole body. Oh fuck, this is so good. I’m really getting all the details tonight, I can feel the callouses on his hands, I can smell his body odor, it drives me mad… fuck. Came already. 

I wave my wand over myself, sighing.

I would never have the guts. I would never have the opportunity. I would never, even if I had both guts and opportunity. They’d put me away for life, drugging Our Hero like that. 

 

*** *** *** ***

I’m at the counter, watching the sun go down and feeling the sands of my useless life trickle through the hourglass when he flings himself into the shop. I haven’t ever seen him so soon after fantasizing about him like I did last night. I actually haven’t seen him in months, not since Terry Boot’s stag ‘do. A thrill sparks down my nerves and my stomach flips over as our eyes meet. 

“Malfoy,” he says, nodding stiffly. He looks behind him, like he’s being followed. Probably doesn’t want to be seen down the dodgy end of Diagon, close enough you can smell Knockturn. He looks— frankly, he looks terrible. I’d still fuck him, but he looks like he’s not gotten enough food or rest for too long. 

“Potter. May I help you?” The ways in which I want to help him I do not enumerate. 

His eyes flick all over the small, dingy shop. I brew here and I flog potions, but I do not own the place. If I did, it would be cleaner, brighter, in a better area. It would be entirely different. I hope he knows this place isn’t mine. Of course he knows. It doesn’t matter if he knows or not. I hate caring this much. Or at all.

“I don’t know if you can.” He makes fitful assays towards one set of shelves, then another, then finally stumbles over to the counter. He’s in worse shape than I thought. Potions abuse? Hard to believe. Actually, not. I have to control the look on my face; it probably looks calculating and it feels inappropriate to this moment. I smooth my acerbic features into polite blandness. 

“What kind of thing did you need help with?” 

“I can’t sleep.” 

“I can….” _see that_ , I don’t add. “Help with that,” I conclude. His eyes dart up to mine, then away. I reach towards the sleep aids we keep behind the counter.

“Can’t. I mean, no Dreamless Sleep. I’m—they told me, too much.” 

“If you don’t mind me inquiring,” _(and oh, why would he mind being quizzed about his misuse of a highly controlled potion by his former arch-rival? Pish tosh)_ , “what is preventing you sleeping? There are options based on the cause— nightmares? Regrets? Anxiety? Discomfort? Do you snore?”

He laughs at that, but doesn’t smile. “No, I don’t snore.” 

“But the other reasons…? Or something I missed?” 

“Can’t get my mind off it. It never stops. Nothing works.” 

I don’t ask what he’s talking about. It’s likely all-too-similar to the memories that plague my nights. But whatever it is, he’s obviously ruminating. There are soporifics to treat depression. It’s too bad the obvious alternative is also one of the weaker options. 

“I assume you’ve tried valerian-based potions? Something at a higher dose?”

“I can’t handle the smell at the higher doses.” 

“How about… hm. An infusion of hops?” 

“Allergic.” 

“That doesn’t leave a lot of options. I’m not a mind healer, Potter. But I will say this—if the problem is that you can’t get your mind to stop circling around some unwanted thought—” he grimaces at this, “you need to get your mind on something else. Something that will have the added benefit of relaxing you afterwards.”

“What’s that?” 

Merlin. I’m going to have to spell it out for him. 

“Well, I’ve noticed that when I... That is, when I pleasure myself—” I feel my cheeks burning, and not for the first time damn this milkmaid complexion. “It relaxes me. Enough to fall asleep, when nothing else works.”

I admit that his reaction surprises me, though it isn’t gratifying at all. He seems not to notice my cursed virginal blushing, but only because his eyes are fixed straight to the dusty floor. He looks completely blank. 

“Doesn’t work.”

“Masturbation?” Holy shit. He can’t fall asleep after wanking? _What would I do if wanking didn’t work? I’d never sleep; I’d be as much a wreck as he is._

“My cock.” 

Did I really hear that? I want to ask him to repeat it, but obviously— God, I want to hear him say it again. _My cock_. His cock. Harry’s cock.  My cock. Images of his cock fill my mind. I’m so thrown that it takes me a moment to realize that he’s just admitted that his cock is not in working order. What a terrible… a terrible waste… hm. 

“I might have a potion for that.”

His head jerks up, expression morphing from shock to disgust. “I don’t need wizarding Viagra, Merlin! I just want to go to sleep and stay asleep! God! What is wrong with you? Forget it. Don’t tell anyone I was here. I mean it, Malfoy.” He fixes me with a brief look that is obviously intended to be threatening but actually looks agonized. My heart clenches. He turns to go.

“It’s not. Wizard Viagor or whatever you just said. It’s— it’s an—” It’s what, exactly? It’s the potion I feed him in my fantasies. I’m in deep shit here. I can’t sell this to him. “It’s a—well, a variation on a lust potion.” 

He stops walking as soon as I start speaking and turns to face me when I’ve finished. “Those are illegal.” 

A change has come over him. I’m not sure what it is. 

“Why are you brewing lust potions, Malfoy?” Ah, he’s entered Auror mode. He’s on the scent of something. On the scent of me.

“Now, wait a minute. This is an approved potion. It’s really more of a marital aid, if you catch my drift.”

“The approved ones don’t work like that. I’m not that stupid.” 

“Well. I may have. Tweaked it. Slightly. At the request of a customer.” 

“Uh huh. And professional confidentiality prevents you telling me which customer?”

“Well, yes. It wasn’t… that is to say, he was. He’s 95 years old, for god’s sake; the bog-standard wasn’t going to get his pecker up.” 

“So, it works?” 

“For him it does. Don’t know if it would for you. But it couldn’t hurt to try. And you couldn’t tell anyone.”

“I wouldn’t. You think... this will help me sleep?” Potter doesn’t look so desperate anymore. It feels good to know that I’d restored some hope to his life, although I have deep misgivings about the manner in which I had achieved it and even deeper qualms about my real motives for doing so. 

“Yes, I think it might. If nothing else has helped.” I look him in the eye. His flinch is just barely perceptible, but I’ve spent years watching the git and I don’t miss it. He hasn’t tried everything, but he wants to try this. 

I turn and stalk to the rear of the shop, making sure the curtain closes behind me. As soon as I am sure he can no longer see me, I slide down the wall and slump on some crates, head in hands. I can’t give him this. I wasn’t supposed to make it in the first place. I could get sacked. I could go to Azkaban. He’s an Auror, for god’s sake. My fantasies flit through my head. They cause my stomach to roil, but they also cause a familiar stirring in my pants. 

He wants it. He wants the potion. He wants me to give him the potion. He wants to take it. He will take it and then he’ll get hard. He’ll get the horn so badly he’ll have to touch himself. He’ll touch himself—there—he’ll take out his aching cock and … fuck, I’m hard just from a few seconds of following this to its logical conclusion. _You have to think about what happens next_ , my father always said. You have to follow it through. There are always consequences.

He won’t tell anyone. What would he say? ‘I had to take a potion to get hard.’ He’s not lying about not being able to get it up. That is not the face of a well-fucked bloke. And anyone would fuck him— anyone. There’s no reason. No reason for him not to get it twelve ways to Sunday anytime he gets the notion. Fuck it. 

I grab a bottle off the shelf and locate my stash of the potion. I’ve never even named it. It was just a way to make some extra money on the side, and later, fuel for my tawdry fantasies about a certain ex-nemesis. I fill the bottle and cap it. I’m trembling. With fear. With excitement. He’ll take it, I know he will. And I will be the one who knows— later tonight, it will slide down his throat, a liquid proxy for my cock. I will be inside of him, a part of me will be _inside_ him. _I_ brewed it, it will be _me_ making him feel—oh —so good. 

I’m doing him a favor, really. 

I swipe the curtain aside and stride to the counter, placing the potion in front of him. His gaze is riveted to the small flask, pearly fluid shining gently in the waning light. It looks like come. I almost laugh but manage to restrain myself. He’s pulling out his wallet— I stop him. 

“It’s on the house,” I say glibly. If I charged him, that would take all the fun out of it. He nods, picking up the flask. I can hardly bear to look at him any longer, it’s such a rush knowing that he’ll be heading home with this, and later tonight… 

I turn and move towards the stock room, saying over my shoulder, “Let me get you the instructions I wrote for the other client.” 

I hear a noise and turn back around. My jaw drops.

He’s wiping his mouth. The flask in in his hand, empty. He’s taken it. 

The instructions, if the arsehole had allowed me get them for him, explicitly state not to take the potion in the presence of another person, unless you are willing to feel compelled to fuck the living daylights out of them until you come— and until they come. That was a special little thing I threw in to please the customer’s wife. It only comes into play if the potion is taken in the presence of a partner. Such as the present instance.

A wash of heat engulfs me. What happens next…. You must think about what happens next. We’re going to fuck.

Potter had been looking at the bottle in his hand, but now his gaze shifts over to me. I swallow convulsively as I register the absolutely feral look in his eyes. The flask drops to the floor and rolls off to some unknown crevice. I start to back up.

“What did you give me, Malfoy,” he murmurs. “This feels…”

“I _told_ you what it was, Potter! Are you _insane_? You know how these things work!”

“It works right away, huh?” 

I don’t even bother trying to restrain myself from indulging in the biggest eye-roll of my life. It’s a wonder they don’t fall right out of my head. 

“So what now?” He’s walked right up the the edge of the counter, hands braced against it, pushing as though he’s about to break through it. To get to me.

I don’t have to do this. I don’t. I could walk away and leave him here to wank himself raw. 

But why? What on earth would be the point of denying myself something I’ve been yearning for, for so long I can scarcely remember a time when I didn’t want it? And he’ll be in my debt.

“If you’re lucky, I’ll help you out,” I say— Slytherin to the end. Ah yes, this is me getting the upper hand. 

“Good, because if I don’t fuck you right now‚—oh god, Malfoy, you weren’t lying about this stuff.” He strokes his erection through his tight Muggle trousers and something inside me gives way completely. I am going to do this, by God and Merlin. But he doesn’t need to know I want it this badly. 

“Potter. Give me a second.”

“Malfoy, I should just leave. Or— I could—ah—” He’s stroking his cock through his clothes again, I can see the outline of it and my mouth waters. “I could just wank in the back. I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“You wouldn’t get two steps down the street without molesting some unfortunate witch or wizard, Potter. And anyway — it wouldn’t work. You took it in my presence and it won’t stop until you’ve made me come. Hold on and I’ll… join you.” I flip the storage room curtain back and reach in to snag an empty flask. Coming back in, I make a show of tossing back the potion and throwing the flask on the ground. 

“Now I want it, too. You don’t have to worry.” 

He looks stunned but so, so turned on, I’m not even sure he followed my little panto. I think he just wants to get down to it. So, let’s.

I climb onto the counter and kneel in front of him, then swing my legs around til I’ve got them around his waist. If I angle my hips— just—so— and tighten my thighs against his— yes. 

Contact.

He shudders and groans softly in the back of his throat. 

Somehow I have the presence of mind to _Evanesco_ my robes, lock the doors and flip the sign to “Closed” with a few flicks of my wand. I slide my hands into the back of his stupid trousers, feeling the curve of his arse and goddamn it is _delicious_. He leans into me and bends his head, lips devouring mine. Yes. I didn’t take any fucking potion but I feel like I have. I feel drugged.

His tongue swipes through my mouth. I pull back, head reeling. He pushes me further down on the counter, but I’m trying to sit further up so I can get to his cock. The struggle results in our erections rubbing together and now he’s just grinding and grinding against me, mindless rutting against my crotch. Harry is all pliant need, acting on instinct alone. He needs guidance. I’m not going to let him get off so artlessly. 

I slide out from under him and press him against the counter, ignoring his sounds of protest. I push my hard dick up against that arse that drives me absolutely insane and it feels even better than I could have imagined. So perfectly rounded, firm, the exact angle of the buttocks as they meet the thigh, it’s all perfect. I murmur a spell to divest him of all garments below the waist, and on second thought, all those above the waist too. Quick as a wink, Harry Potter is naked and humping the counter of the apothecary. I never thought I’d live to see the day.

I step back and observe this... situation I have landed myself in. I’m in it now, no way out and I wouldn’t want one. The only way out is through. I’m more than okay with that; it’s just that there are endless possibilities and my head is swimming with them. One of Harry’s hands is supporting him on the counter and the other is working his cock as he half turns to see what I’m doing. I drop to my knees and run my hands up his legs, certain that of all the options open to me, this is the best. He’s had blow jobs before, no doubt. Hand jobs. He’s fucked people, and possibly even had a finger up the arse. But I’m willing to lay down a stack of Galleons that he’s never had this. 

My hands have met at the juncture of his legs and arse, thumbs pressing his crack apart right below where his furled little hole lies waiting. I part the cheeks just a fraction more and lean in to lick. I trail a light stripe up the crack and he chokes. Then I start all over again but this time thrust my tongue right in between his cheeks, searching for that little knot. I may be sick but this does it for me. I can’t get enough of the reactions it elicits. It’s an extremely enjoyable way to exert power over someone, the more so for how filthy it is. I even love the way it tastes.

Well, when it’s clean. I scrabble for my wand and cast a recondite little charm I know to render his arsehole clean and ready for me. I am going to eat him out like a starving man.

He startles but doesn’t move away. I circle the hole with my tongue, which makes my cock throb. I flatten my tongue and press against it, then point the tip and tease it in a fraction of an inch. He is thrusting his arse towards me and mutters thickly, “Jesus what are you doing?” But his tone tells me he doesn’t want me to stop.

I stab in more forcefully, little determined pokes, and then I pull my tongue out, fluttering the tip like a butterfly kiss over the sensitive flesh. He— oh, god, the noise he makes goes straight to both my solar plexus and my groin, bringing me to the edge without being touched. And we’ve barely started. I suck at the pink pucker, suck and flicker and prod, getting it so wet, and then I fuck into him with my tongue. I’m frenching his arsehole and I love it. I love how vulnerable he is, I love him fucking himself on my face, the sounds he’s making— I’ll bet it’s going to be the memory of his noises that brings me off time and again when I’m thinking about this later. 

He is completely out of control. I could make him come doing this. I’m so fucking good with my tongue. I’m so good _fucking_ with my tongue. He’s falling apart, fisting his cock furiously. I fuck into him as far as I can get, my mouth entirely sealed over his hole, and lick a huge circle inside of him, keeping the pressure as hard as possible. “Unhhh, oh GOD Malfoy, fuck….” He’s spilling over his hand. I hear the come splatter on the floor near his feet and reluctantly withdraw my tongue from his body. 

He slides to the floor, ending up half-curled over on his knees, still facing away from me. I sit back on my heels and my heart lurches. My turn now. He’ll still feel compelled to participate in my satisfaction. God, I am a bloody genius. 

“How do you feel, Potter?” I ask. 

He begins to turn towards me, and the look on his face takes my breath away. “That took the edge off but, but fuck, Malfoy...” And this is what he would look like if he really wanted me, without artificial lust poisoning his blood. Part of me quails before it, because I really don’t know what do when life hands me pumpkin juice instead of rotten pumpkins. Part of me feels a pang of longing, wishing this were all unaided desire. And part of me, a very specific part, says what the hell. This is as good as it’s ever going to get, so go for it. 

“I need—I need…” he mumbles inarticulately as he crawls towards me on hands and knees. I’m panting with need and I don’t bother to hide it. My cock tents my thin pants but it doesn’t matter because I’m supposed to want this. The potion would make me want this. 

“How do you want me, Potter?” I ask, far more huskily than I had intended. 

“Uh, I don’t, I don’t really know,” he says under his breath as he climbs on top of my legs and begins pawing at my pants. His palm grazes my erection and we both inhale sharply. He steadies himself by putting more pressure there, then he squeezes and I moan, sounding so needy I almost blush. 

“I could,” he says as he lowers his mouth to my cloth-covered prick and he breathes out over it, making it warm and moist and ungh, fuck I push him off me so I can wrangle the fucking things off my body. I throw them somewhere and kneel back down in front of him. He’s on his hands and knees and Merlin, it’s like his mouth is a magnet and my cock has the opposite charge—he’s on me so fast. The way he takes me in his mouth is awkward—I realize he likely hasn’t done this before and it won’t be all that skilled.

But the prospect of Harry fucking Potter lapping at my dick like it contains the elixir of life is too appealing. 

“Yeah, that works,” I manage, the understatement of my life.

He’s slurping over the head like it’s an ice lolly—sloppy and artless and I don’t care. I’ve been hard as a rock since I realized he took that potion. He gets his hand around the base and pops off the crown, bending lower to lick around the shaft and get it good and wet, then uses the saliva to work his hand up and down. My eyes are rolling back in my head. Which is no good, because I want to watch. With supreme effort of will, I redirect my focus down to where his wreck of a mane is bobbing up and down on my cock. One hand is gripping my thigh almost to the point of pain, and I’m glad because it’s holding off my orgasm just barely. I want to watch him do this for hours. 

But of course all good things must come to a sticky end, and I haven’t been touched by a man in far too long. I don’t give him any warning as I pump my load into his mouth. He sputters slightly at first but manages to swallow most of it down. _Good boy_ , I think, my mouth twisting into a smirk even as the post-orgasm torpor sets in. 

Harry raises himself up to a sitting position, not meeting my eyes but looking around for his clothes. Well, this should be seven hells of awkward. 

“I’ll just—” he stutters as he gets up and makes another search around. When he realizes that his clothes are not in evidence, he stills and then turns reluctantly to me. “Where’d my clothes go?” he asks, as completely embarrassed as it’s possible to be. 

“I Vanished them.” I shrug. _They were shitty clothes_ , I don’t add. _The tight trousers were rather nice_ , I also don’t say. 

“Well, great.” He pauses, clearly unsure of the etiquette of this particular constellation of circumstances. On the one hand, I’ve sent his property into non-being. On the other hand, I’ve risked my professional license and personal liberty to provide him with a possible solution to his insomnia. And on that third hand, he’s recklessly consumed a quasi-legal lust potion in the nonconsenting presence of another person, forcing them to choose between being raped or drugging themselves as well. And if a fourth hand were available, on it would be the fact that two former mortal enemies just fucked each other silly in a public place, albeit one currently closed to further encroachments of the public. 

It’s a poser.

Ultimately, he concludes that his clothes were the least of his losses here and thanks me tersely, then Disapparates on the spot. 

That fucker. He better not start regretting what happened here. I’ll bet he sleeps like a baby tonight. 

You can imagine my surprise when he shows up in the shop less than a week later and pulls the same trick.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi to me on [Tumblr](http://www.oceaxereturns.tumblr.com)!


End file.
